I took a breath. Shit. Was I really going to do this? I tried to swallow, but it got stuck in my throat, and it took me a moment to get it down. My hands were shaking just a bit as I lifted them. ‘I’m sick.’
Dax’s brows shot up. ‘Like…flu?’
‘No. Not contagious. Something else. Chronic illness,’ I spelled. ‘My brother doesn’t know.’
He looked startled. ‘Who knows?’
‘Nash.’
He didn’t look surprised, which was saying something. ‘Okay. I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you.’ I wanted to tell him not to say sorry because it felt too much like pity, but I knew he was only trying to be kind. ‘I got fired from my job.’
He made a noise of outrage. ‘Fired? For being sick? Sue them!’
‘I can’t. I was an adjunct professor,’ I explained. ‘The rest of my summer classes were canceled, and they decided not to pick me up for the fall semester. They said not enough enrollment. Nothing they did was illegal, but it means no insurance. I can’t afford the physical therapy I need.’
Dax looked horrified. ‘You come work for me.’
The offer was so sweet I kind of wanted to cry. Instead, I smiled and shook my head. ‘I can’t. It’s a neurological problem, and it affects my ability to move.’ And think. And speak sometimes. Not to mention the seizures and the falling. I would be the biggest liability in his shop, even if I were just at the front desk.
Dax didn’t argue. He just looked sad. ‘What will you do?’
‘I have a…’ My fingers hesitated, then I shrugged. ‘A friend who offered to help me get coverage. But it’s complicated.’
Dax lifted his brows. ‘How?’
‘I have to do something I’m not sure I should.’
Dax put his finger to his lips for a moment. ‘Don’t tell me. Then I can’t testify.’
I laughed. That was fair. It wasn’t exactly criminal behavior, but it was probably—technically—unethical behavior. Not that I put much stock into the concept of private insurance in America and how fucked most of us were.
But it went against everything I’d been taught growing up. Not to mention it made me feel a bit like a leech. I knew Nashwouldn’t want me to think of it that way. He’d go out of his way, in fact, to make sure I didn’t.
But alone—in my own head—it was hard to quiet those ugly voices telling me I wasn’t doing enough.
‘You need help, right?’ Dax asked.
I nodded, hating the answer was yes.
‘Someone wants to help you? I don’t understand the problem.’
I suppose there was no problem. Not really. ‘I don’t want to feel like I need it.’
‘Vee-vee,’ he signed, meaning he understood. ‘When I was growing up, I had hearing teachers tell me not to bother getting a job. They said to go on disability. They said that no one would want to hire me and I would be unemployed.’
‘Bullshit,’ I signed, then flushed. Even in ASL, it felt weird to swear in front of someone I didn’t know very well.
Dax looked entirely unbothered. ‘My parents didn’t let me believe it. They’re both successful, but they had to work twice as hard for it. Dayton works hard to make sure that fire departments hire Deaf too.’
My brows lifted. I hadn’t realized that. ‘Deaf firefighters at his station?’
Dax shook his head. ‘Not now, but in the past, yes. But I learned to take help where I could get it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be where I am today, and I love my life.’
He had a point. He had a very good point. It was not a moral or personal failing because the system failed me. It wasn’t a personal or moral failing because jobs were shitty and used loopholes to get rid of employees rather than make their work lives easier for them.
None of that was my fault.
